


white knuckles (maybe it's not so bad)

by regularturtle



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Horror, Caduceus Clay Needs a Hug, Caduceus Clay-centric, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, like barely described at all bc I'm bad at writing scary things anyway, so I'm not gonna actually tag them, the clay family sort of make an appearance but not really, very light body horror don't worry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 16:48:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28995477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/regularturtle/pseuds/regularturtle
Summary: "Wildmother, what could I have done differently? Every choice I made was wrong — forgive me for failing you."And then he shot awake, drenched in a cold sweat.In which Caduceus has a nightmare, then an existential crisis, and Yasha is surprisingly helpful.
Relationships: Caduceus Clay & Clay Family, Caduceus Clay & Melora the Wildmother, Caduceus Clay & The Mighty Nein, Caduceus Clay & Yasha
Comments: 12
Kudos: 73





	white knuckles (maybe it's not so bad)

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from White Knuckles by OK Go! I just kinda felt like it fit. It's a song about changing and not being the same person you used to be, and maybe that's not so bad! Enjoy it! Also I love the line "nothing ever doesn't change, but nothing changes much." And the music video has dogs in it :)
> 
> Slight content warning for body horror. It's not very explicit, but skip the paragraph that starts with "The buzzing grew louder and louder" if you don't want to read it!
> 
> I've been working on this since September so I'm very glad to finally have it done! voilà mes amis enjoy my fanfic

The Blooming Grove was always filled with noise, even in the dead of night when most of the world was asleep. The chirping of crickets, the buzzing of cicadas, the croaking of frogs — the sounds of the forest never ceased.

It was eerily quiet as he approached, the blight on the Savalirwood having spread closer and closer to the graveyard’s boundaries. The woods surrounding his home had always been quiet, as long as he had been alive, but Caduceus was surprised to see it still so silent after the ritual had been completed. Perhaps the cure was just taking time to take effect.

He stood on the other side of the warped, rusted iron barrier that was choked in the very gray-purple vines that it had been built to keep out. The first fence had been overcome by the blight years ago, when he must have been too young to remember it, if not even before he was born. He could remember when the second fence had fallen, though, soon after his mother and aunt had left the Grove. And as far as he knew, the third fence was still standing.

He took a deep breath and stepped over a fallen piece of twisted metal, careful not to catch his loose clothing on the razor-sharp thorns enveloping it. Within a few minutes he reached the second fence too, ducking under it and continuing towards the graveyard.

Finally, he reached the third fence, the only one that had been intact when he left — only to find vines creeping past the gate as well.

_What?_ This was… _wrong._ The ritual should have worked, should have protected his home from the blight infecting the Savalirwood, Calliope had even said as much — yet here he was, right outside the Blooming Grove, and the blight clearly had not stopped.

Heart racing, he reached to open the gate, flinching back as the thorny vines sliced into his skin. With a flick of his hand and a soft mutter, he cast _sacred flame_ to burn away the blighted plants, and pushed the gate open.

_”Caduceus?”_

His mother and his aunt were seated on the soft earth near the edge of the graveyard, bodies facing towards him but heads bowed, as if they had been in the middle of meditating.

“Mom! Aunt Corrin!” He dashed forward, coming to a halt right in front of them.

_”Why did you leave, Caduceus?”_ Now his mother’s eyes turned towards him, but instead of the usual deep love they were filled with, they were completely void of emotion. 

_”You abandoned the Wildmother’s temple,”_ Corrin continued in a similar tone. _“You abandoned your faith and your duty.”_

“I —“ He cut off. It was almost too dark to see, but now as he looked around, he could see the Wildmother’s domain was thoroughly run through with the blight. “But I left to _save_ the Grove, to save _you.”_

“You failed us.” The two elder Clays spoke in unison, and without warning, vines tore out of the ground and wrapped around their forms. Caduceus tried to leap forward, to do _anything,_ but then —

“Why didn’t you leave sooner?” He spun around, and now Calliope and his father were standing behind him. Calliope’s sword was unsheathed, held limply at her side, as she held a deadly glare towards her younger brother.

“You hadn’t heard from us for years, and yet you did nothing,” his father growled. He had always been the gentler of his two parents; the harsh sounds of his words sent a chill down his spine.

“Always waiting for a sign, never acting on your own. You’re a coward,” Calliope spat. And just as abruptly as the vines that had sprouted from the ground, Calliope and Cornelius Clay’s skin began turning an ashy gray, starting at their feet and rising up — they were turning to stone, just as they had at the Menagerie.

“But — I was waiting just like you did, for the Wildmother to send me a sign like she sent you all —“

“Then why didn’t you finish the ritual, Caduceus?” And suddenly Clarabelle and Colton were in front of him. Colton’s face was filled with an anger similar to Calliope’s — he had always been the most standoffish of the younger generation of Clays — but Clarabelle’s eyes were filled with tears.

“You knew what you were supposed to do, but you left us,” Clarabelle cried. “Why didn’t you come home with us?”

“Look at what happened without you here,” Colton said, raising his voice. And now, where the Grove had been silent before, a humming of insects began to build in volume. “You should have come with us, but instead you’re, what? Having fun out there in the big world? Leaving your family behind to _rot?”_

The buzzing grew louder and louder until it became deafening. Caduceus choked out a sob, surrounded on all sides by two family members being torn apart by blighted vines, two turned to stone once more — and then, as the buzzing grew to a peak, he saw it: beetles, bursting from Colton and Clarabelle’s _eyes._ The two of them collapsed to the ground, convulsing as bugs burrowed out from under their skin. Caduceus fell to his knees as well, tears dripping onto the dirt beneath him.

_Wildmother, what could I have done differently? Every choice I made was wrong — forgive me for failing you._

And then he shot awake, drenched in a cold sweat.

Caduceus scrambled out of bed and fell to the floor with a thump, his legs tangled up in the bedsheets. He began feeling around frantically for his pack in the dark, hissing as his hand caught on something sharp — a knife in his cooking pack, perhaps. The room lit up as he flicked his fire start — and he could see no punctures in his hand from the gate’s thorns, only the fresh cut from seconds ago.

He forced his breathing to slow from hyperventilation to something more manageable as he lit a stick of incense with shaking hands, and he began to cast _commune._ The sweet perfume swirled around him, the familiar scent calming him slightly as he sat on the floor with eyes closed.

And a minute later, a warm breeze enveloped him.

_”Wildmother,”_ he breathed. ”Was this —“ His voice cracked, fear leaking through despite the wall he had put up to block it out. “Was this a vision?”

The wind stirred and grew ever so slightly colder — a denial. This was not a vision of something that would come to pass, or something that already had, he realized with a deep sigh of relief.

That was the main question he had wanted answered, but he had two remaining.

“Is my family upset with me?”

He dreaded the answer he would receive — he had, after all, spent months, _years_ without ever once trying to contact them. Years spent missing them, wondering where they could have gone, but no action taken to find out. Years that ended when he left, abandoning the duty he had been assigned, and when it finally came time to finish the ritual, he couldn’t even bring himself to do it. He wouldn’t blame the family of his _dream, not vision_ if they truly felt that way, the shame curdling deep in his stomach.

The breeze warmed, tousling his now chin-length hair — but this was not a confirmation in the way the previous one had been a denial, he could tell. This was comfort, this was an easement of his anxieties. They were not upset with him.

Caduceus wasn’t sure if that made him feel any better about his decisions.

Final question.

“Are… are you upset with me?”

And in a way he had never seen before with this spell, the wind blew with full force, nearly snuffing out the incense he had lit. This was an intensity he had never seen before from his goddess, at least not directed towards him. The wind subsided, curling gently around his face with a warm touch — and then the spell ended, the incense burning out on its own as the air stilled.

A sharp refusal, sharp enough that he could almost hear her words in his head. _No, I am not upset with you, I could never be upset with you._

Caduceus leaned his head into his hands, legs too shaky for him to stand back up just yet. And as he sat there on the carpet in the center of his room, the tension slowly leaking out of his form, he thought, _I’m sorry for ever doubting this path you’ve laid out for me._

Then, quiet enough that he almost thought he imagined it, there was a knock at his door. His ears flicked at the sound.

_Maybe, if I sit still enough, whoever’s there will think I’m asleep._ He felt a slight touch of guilt at the thought — his friends often came to him at night for advice, and it would be rather selfish for him to just ignore them.

“Caduceus?” A soft voice drifted in through the sitting room, through the open doorway into his own bedroom. Yasha.

He held his breath, willing her to go away with another stab of guilt.

“Are you alright? I thought I heard a loud noise, like something fell over?”

_Oops._ That would’ve been him tumbling out of bed. He sighed — ignoring people like this wasn’t in his nature, and the idea of Yasha leaving and still being worried about him… he didn’t want her to have to worry.

He stood up, legs steadier than before, and gently pulled the door open.

Yasha blinked, her body turned away slightly, as if she had been about to leave.

“Oh. I thought you must be asleep.”

And he had no excuse for taking so long to get to the door, he realized.

“I’m awake,” he said, the words feeling heavy on his tongue. He cleared his throat, then forced his face into a smile. “Do you want to come in?”

He turned, began moving towards the fireplace to light it, but then Yasha’s hand caught his.

“Your hand’s bleeding.”

“Oh, yeah. It… got caught on something. I can heal it —“ But before he could finish his sentence, he felt a rush flow up his arm, almost like an electric shock, but in no way painful. And when he looked down at his hand, the cut was healed.

“It’s no trouble,” Yasha said, as if anticipating he would argue.

He considered what to say for a moment, then just nodded, and he moved back towards the fireplace again. Once its warm glow was illuminating the room, he sat down on a cushion placed in front of it. Yasha followed.

“So,” she began, “I’m not as good at this as you are, or even as the rest of the group. But, um, I heard a noise, and now you look like you were crying —“

He did? He didn’t even realize he had been. He tried to discreetly wipe at his face with one of his sleeves, although it was definitely a moot point by now.

“— and I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

_Was_ he okay? By all measures, he knew he should be. His goddess herself had confirmed that the horrible things he had seen were not a vision, just a nightmare. He’d had nightmares before, they all had, so he shouldn’t be bothered.

But he was, and he wasn’t sure why.

“Your god has sent you places. You were off doing things for him for a while when I first joined your group, right?”

Yasha nodded. “I was… seeking to prove myself for a long time. Seeking forgiveness. I think, recently… I’ve started to think I might be worthy of it.” She looked down at her hands, but Caduceus could see a faint smile on her face now.

“Good. I’m glad. I’ve seen you do a lot of amazing things, Yasha.”

Now, Yasha looked up and directed that smile towards him. “I’ve seen you do amazing things too, Caduceus. And I’m here to talk about _you,_ not myself. You’re very good at — I think Beau’s called it _deflecting.”_

He winced a bit internally — so she’d been talking to Beau about him.

Well, he clearly wasn’t going to get away with directing the conversation towards her.

“I had a nightmare,” he said. “It was… very vivid. I thought it was a vision at first.”

“What happened?”

“I was in the Blooming Grove. My family was there, but — it was all wrong. The ritual failed, they were all dying, and it was my fault.”

“How was it your fault? We all saw you save your family.”

He sighed, closing his eyes. “Not leaving home soon enough. Leaving too late. Not going back home when I should have. I thought I strayed from the Wildmother’s path, but I _asked_ her, and — I thought it would help, to know for sure. But it doesn’t, and I don’t know why.”

Yasha looked pensive for a moment. “Well, I don’t think I can read you as well as you can read me. But from what I’ve seen, I think the Wildmother had you on a very specific quest for a while. And now that it’s done, maybe you don’t know what you should do. And you don’t know if you’re doing the wrong thing.”

“That’s —“ Huh. That actually... _fit._

He had thought it was a vision that meant the Wildmother was disappointed in him, that he had failed her. But then not only was she _not_ upset, but neither was his family.

Which meant — what, exactly? She hadn’t told him what to do since the Menagerie. Was he to be tossed around by the universe, at the whim of whatever outside forces pulled at him — or was he to make his own choices about what to do next? It felt like a chasm had opened up underneath him, the bridge the Wildmother had been leading him across suddenly falling away.

“I’m not sure I like that very much,” he whispered, heat starting to build behind his eyes again.

“Why not?”

“Because the Wildmother is all I had for the better part of ten years. And if she isn’t with me, that would mean I’m on my own again.”

And there it was, the truth slipping out with him almost not even realizing it. He didn’t think he even realized it _was_ the truth until now. It felt good, in a way, for it to be out, but at the same time… he couldn’t ignore it anymore.

Then all of a sudden, Yasha’s arms were wrapped around him in a somewhat awkward hug.

“I, er, am not a very good hugger. But I know you like hugs, and I need to say — the Wildmother not always telling you what to do does not mean she isn’t with you. And you’ll never be on your own. You saved your family. You have us here, and our guiding might not be the same as the Wildmother’s, but we’re always here to help you. And I think maybe we can do better with making sure you’re doing okay, but we _will_ do better.”

She gave him an even more awkward pat on the back that was probably meant to be comforting, but mostly just made him chuckle. Which, to be fair, was comforting in its own way.

A warm feeling filled his chest, completely unrelated to the fire slowly burning down next to them. He had _family,_ both here and in the Blooming Grove.

“Thank you, Yasha. Maybe that’s what life is, huh — building a bridge across that chasm yourself. And it’s kind of hard to build a bridge all on your own.”

“Chasm?”

Oh, _oops,_ that was something he’d thought, not said, wasn’t it. “Oh, it’s a metaphor,” he laughed.

“Like the one Veth told me? I’ll throw you off a bridge?”

“That… I’m pretty sure that isn’t a metaphor for anything.”

Yasha pulled back and smiled at him. “Okay, I think you are better with metaphors then I am.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure most of my metaphors don’t make sense either. Kind of my thing, maybe.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a long while, the fire slowly dwindling down to embers. Eventually, it grew dim enough that Caduceus could barely see the room around him, which he took as his cue to stand up.

“Thank you for this, Yasha, I really appreciate you being here. But it’s late, and we should probably get back to bed.”

“Yes,” Yasha said, but she hesitated to stand up. “Would you… do you want me to stay here with you for the night?”

“Oh, that would be — I would love that.”

He had spent many a night as a child sharing a bed with his older sister Calliope when he had a bad dream. And he wasn’t a child anymore, but Yasha did remind him quite a bit of Calliope. Strong, stoic, cared a whole lot about her loved ones. Surprisingly good at comforting people despite some awkwardness.

The last bit of firelight burned out as Caduceus closed his eyes, not worried anymore about what might come when he fell back asleep. Still a _little_ bit worried for what the future would hold, too, but not as worried as before. He would always have his goddess, of course, but he had friends and family to guide him, too.

“Good night, Caduceus.”

“Good night, Yasha.”

**Author's Note:**

> ahhhh I can't write endings but I just wanted to get this done so here, I'm tossing this out there. hope you enjoyed!
> 
> say hi to me on Tumblr [@regularturtle](regularturtle.tumblr.com) if you wanna talk to me about Critical Role :D I pretty much just post about Caduceus and also whatever video games I'm playing there


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